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1.
"Whatever. It's your job."
The sound of Nate slamming the door shook the entire apartment. The foam “Mars” escaped from Andy’s hand and rolled to the foot of the table. She set down her paint brush, suddenly overwhelmed with exhaustion. It was already late at night. The excitement of placing the Harry Potter manuscript on Miranda’s desk had faded, and the weariness from darting around all corners of the city all day finally wrapped around her. She didn’t have the energy to bend down and pick up the foam ball, nor did she have the strength to knock on the bedroom door. All she could do was lean back against the chair and stare blankly at the twins’ science project.
The inside of the wooden box was completely covered in black construction paper, scattered with sparkling silver stars—that was supposed to be “space.” Andy knew stars in outer space didn’t really look like neat five-pointed shapes, but it had taken her a full hour to cut out that many from aluminum foil, and for an elementary school project, it would do just fine.
Her gaze landed on the “Earth” lying in one corner of the box. From the perspective of the entire solar system, perhaps Earth really was like this—no matter how much life it held, how many joys and sorrows were unfolding here, from afar it was just a dull little sphere. New York was like a tiny tuft of fiber on that ball, her troubles nothing more than an invisible speck of dust upon it.
Andy shook her head. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so melancholic about such an abstract idea. As a child, she used to sit by her desk at the window, gazing up and connecting the stars into shapes of animals in her mind, or imagining that somewhere on another planet, there was a girl just like her, looking back at her. Would Caroline and Cassidy do the same—project their unspoken feelings into the night sky like she used to? Probably not. Their way of passing time had a far more convenient target: Miranda’s unsuspecting assistants.
For no reason, Andy thought of the sunroof in Miranda’s town car. Just by opening it, she could claim a small patch of sky amid the towering skyscrapers. Did Miranda ever look up and see the stars after a late-night gala, leaning alone in the backseat? Also unlikely. Miranda never had time for such indulgence. On the rare occasions Andy had ridden in the backseat with her, Miranda was always flipping through proofs and confirming the next steps with her, eyes never straying toward the windows. Even so, the image of starlight reflected in those blue eyes floated in Andy’s mind—a vision so calm, she felt a pang of regret knowing it was only her imagination.
She looked out the window. Their apartment was too low to see the sky; her view was completely blocked by the building across the street. Well then, at least when it came to being starless, she and Miranda had something in common.
Would Miranda’s speck of dust be heavier than Andy’s? Was it because she mattered more, or simply because she carried more worries?
Andy pressed her forehead to the table and decided it was time to shut down the melancholic engine running in her mind.
2.
"Is that Venus?"
"No, I just told you that’s Polaris. Hey—don’t touch that!" Caroline slapped away Cassidy’s hand reaching toward the telescope.
The salesman at the telescope store had advised Andy that for a 13-year-old who just joined the school’s astronomy club, a pair of high-magnification binoculars would be a more suitable gift than a thousand-dollar Celestron scope. But now, watching Caroline carefully adjust the various knobs and dials, Andy didn’t regret her choice one bit.
"Andy, come look! I found Kochab!"
Caroline pulled Andy over to the telescope, and through the eyepiece, the reddish-orange outline of Kochab was crystal clear. Andy wrapped her arms around Caroline, who was looking up at her with such bright-eyed excitement.
"Amazing! Our little astronomer!"
"It’s just a star, what’s the big deal?"
Andy looked at Cassidy, a bit taken aback. She was standing with her arms crossed, casually kicking a pebble on the rooftop, trying to act nonchalant.
"It is a big deal," Andy said, resting a hand on Cassidy’s shoulder. "Remember The Lion King? The great kings of the past look down on us from those stars."
The Lion King had been the first movie Andy watched with the twins, and it had been a memorable experience for all of them—Andy was shocked they’d made it to ten without ever seeing it, and the twins had been shocked that their mom’s girlfriend actually cried during a cartoon. Andy remembered how much they had liked the movie back then. After all, for a week afterwards, she kept catching them humming Hakuna Matata.
But clearly, that affection hadn’t made it through their tween years. Because after Andy’s attempt at a Mufasa impression, Cassidy and Caroline exchanged a glance, then both dropped into a squat and burst out laughing.
It wasn’t until footsteps echoed from the rooftop entrance that they finally stood up again. When Andy turned around, Miranda had just stepped through the door. The weariness from work weighed heavy at the corners of her eyes, but in the dim light, the look she gave them was unusually soft.
"As far as I know, it’s past your bedtime."
"Andy got me a telescope, Mom!" Caroline waved her over excitedly.
Miranda looked mildly surprised, and as she walked over, she raised an eyebrow at Andy. Andy caught the unspoken question and just shrugged in response. Caroline grabbed Miranda’s hand and launched into an eager explanation, giving Andy the chance to lean toward Cassidy and whisper, "You know, Caroline’s not the only one getting a gift."
The light in Cassidy’s eyes outshone Kochab itself. Andy could hardly wait to see her face tomorrow when she found the brand-new Wacom Cintiq tablet waiting in her room.
Ten minutes later, Miranda and Andy stood at the doorway, watching the twins carefully carry the telescope inside. Miranda curled her fingers around Andy’s, holding them in her palm.
"You’re sure this is the best use of your award money?"
Andy knew what she meant. This was her first time winning a national award—she was supposed to spend the prize money on herself, to find a way to turn it into a stepping stone toward her next chapter. But she also knew she didn’t need to explain to Miranda that the happiness of these kids had already become the driving force that kept her moving forward.
So she simply smiled and rested her head on Miranda’s shoulder.
"Absolutely sure," she said.
3.
“So, when exactly are you going to start talking about what’s really on your mind?”
Andy let out a quiet sigh. She intended to keep pretending nothing was wrong, but then realized she couldn’t even remember what Miranda had been talking about just moments ago. It wasn’t that Andy didn’t want to confide in Miranda; it was just that everything was a tangled mess in her mind, and she couldn’t even explain it to herself, let alone find a way to begin with Miranda.
“Just speak what’s on your mind. It’s what this place is for, isn’t it?”
Andy hadn’t thought of the rooftop bench as something Miranda might consider a kind of confessional, but knowing that Miranda saw it this way gave her a small sense of comfort.
After the telescope went with Caroline to Princeton, the rooftop felt empty. So, Andy had tended to a small garden up there, placing a bench beside it. At first, Miranda had no interest in sitting on the rooftop to enjoy the breeze, but like so many other things between them, what Miranda initially resisted soon became a habit she enjoyed. On weekend mornings or sleepless nights, the bench became their place to share a cup of tea.
“Ellen left today.”
Ellen was the youngest member of Andy’s investigation team. Although a newcomer, she quickly took on many of the important tasks. Andy often felt that she was nowhere near as capable at Ellen’s age. With Ellen’s help, the investigation had progressed so rapidly, which is also why it hit such a serious setback by the third week.
They shouldn’t have been forced to downsize. In the countless decisions made over the past three weeks, they should have acted sooner to avoid this outcome. Of course, Andy knew every decision was a group consensus, but as the team leader, she couldn’t help but feel that she was the one pressing the button each time, erasing all better alternatives and trapping them in this worst-case scenario.
Miranda waited for Andy to continue, but Andy's mind went blank amidst the chaos. Her gaze drifted into the distance, where a few rarely seen stars flickered faintly under the clear night sky.
“Isn’t it amazing? Some stars’ light takes hundreds of years to reach us.” Andy turned to look at Miranda, only to be suddenly stung by a familiar glimmer in her eyes—one that bore no resemblance to starlight.
It was the look from ten years ago, in the back seat of the car in Paris, when Miranda had held her gaze.
Andy’s heart nearly stopped. The suffocating loneliness pressed down on her chest. In that look, she finally understood the ineffable detachment of a decision-maker, so profound that even she herself could not empathize with her own isolation. It was as if a blade had split her in two, and her only hope of salvation was to meet those watching eyes, like sending signals into the cosmic abyss to a flickering target that might never receive them.
“But maybe,” Miranda’s voice was calm, “Maybe a few hundred years isn’t so long in the lifespan of a star. At least they’re finally seen, aren’t they?”
Andy finally felt like she could breathe again.
Fortunately, not all emotions require hundreds of years to be truly understood—like the warmth flowing from Miranda’s eyes in this moment. Even more fortunately, they weren’t separated by hundreds of light-years. Andy only had to lean in slightly to receive that tender kiss, one she knew Miranda was also waiting for.
4.
"Hello?" Andy pressed the phone tightly to her ear. All around her, people were staring up at the night sky, so she instinctively lowered her voice.
She had planned to FaceTime Miranda, but maybe because the crowd was too dense, the signal at the campsite wasn’t great — she had to settle for a regular call instead.
"If you're determined to share your experience with me, at least make sure I can actually hear you," Miranda said, her voice sounding a little exasperated, but not annoyed.
Today was Andy’s last day in Pennsylvania before heading back. She had planned to catch up on some sleep at the hotel — until the photographer of her team tipped her off that tonight would be the best time to see the Perseid meteor shower. So they drove all afternoon and finally made it to Cherry Springs State Park just after dark.
"Have you seen any meteors yet?"
"One or two." Andy had been lying on the grass for an hour, but she wasn't getting impatient; the brilliant river of stars was breathtaking enough. "Did you see the photos I sent you? I’ve never seen this many stars in my life."
"Yes. They’re beautiful," Miranda said.
Andy looked up again. Everywhere she could see, the sky was blanketed with glittering stars, like a glowing net stretched overhead, wrapping her in its light.
"Do you think fate is real?"
"Getting emotional, are we?"
Andy knew what Miranda was implying. Two weeks ago, Miranda had officially retired from Runway. Andy knew Miranda didn’t need — and would even be offended by — anyone hovering around her. Still, after watching her walk away from the work that she had devoted most of her life to, Andy couldn’t help but want to be there as she adjusted. So she took her annual leave from The New York Times, telling Miranda it was just an adapting period at the editorial office.
But that lie hadn’t lasted long — Miranda had caught her in the study, nose buried in The Emotional Life of Retirement, when she was supposed to be "gathering research materials." Later that evening, when Andy’s editor called and mentioned a project in Pennsylvania, Miranda immediately pushed Andy’s suitcase into her hands.
"Maybe," Andy said, ignoring the teasing. "I was just thinking — maybe fate really did pluck me out of a sea of arrogant, clueless college graduates and toss me into your world, which I fell completely, hopelessly into. I mean, it is you — how could I not..."
"Or maybe it’s the other way around," Miranda interrupted, her voice startlingly gentle. "Maybe fate chose me, arranging for me to meet someone unexpected—someone who would stand by me through a life I never imagined. It let me watch her grow, watch her become who she was meant to be."
Andy opened her mouth, but no words came out. Miranda continued, "And if fate is generous enough — or if I’m lucky enough — maybe I’ll also get to witness her grow old by my side."
At that moment, a meteor streaked across the sky, carving a silver arc into the dark.
"I think you just made a star fall," Andy heard her own voice tremble.
Miranda laughed, and the sound reminded Andy of countless nights spent at her side. Andy wanted to hear that laugh for many, many years to come.
Then another meteor blazed across the sky. And another. And another. Cheers erupted from the crowd, blending into the pounding of Andy’s heart.
"No matter what happens, I’m happy!" Andy shouted into the phone, and maybe to some unknown god out there too, "I’m happy with our fate!" She really shouldn’t be crying, but the tears blurred her vision anyway, turning the sea of stars above into a shimmering, swirling cloud.
She knew, deep down, if fate truly existed, it could still find a thousand ways to test them in the years ahead. But right now — right now, all she felt was gratitude. Overflowing, blinding gratitude.
A breeze swept over her, like the universe answering her. Then Miranda’s voice came through the phone, suddenly so close Andy could almost feel her breath against her ear:
"Come home, Andrea."
5.
"That one, for some reason, reminds me so much of your mom."
Cassidy stepped beside Andy and followed her pointing finger to find the star, distant from the constellations yet strikingly bright.
"It's beautiful," she murmured, wrapping an arm around Andy. Andy didn’t respond. She felt another pair of hands encircle her shoulders.
"I'm sorry, Andy," Caroline’s voice was just as soft. Andy didn’t understand why she needed to apologize, but she pulled them both closer anyway. In the month since the funeral, Andy had hugged them more times than in all the years since they’d grown up. She knew they, like her, felt an invisible void in their chests—one that left them too weak to take even a single step forward unless they clung to each other.
Maybe she was the one who should apologize, for bringing up Miranda when they had finally mustered the energy to go camping together. But Andy had promised herself not to resist any emotions that arose from thoughts of Miranda. She needed to accept them—as constant companions in her future life, as Miranda’s lingering shadow, as the echo she left behind inside Andy.
"Would Mom be mad if she knew you saw her in a star?" Caroline sounded genuinely worried, but the next second, the three of them were laughing, their cheeks pressed together. Laughter and sobs were hard to distinguish when they blended—another thing Andy had learned this past month. A moment later, Andy pulled out tissues, wiping the tear tracks from the twins’ faces and then her own.
"Probably not," she said. "I hope not."
Because it wasn’t just the stars. Too, too many things reminded Andy of Miranda. Like the light that lingers in the universe long after a star has gone dark, the world was now full of fragments of Miranda that belonged to Andy alone. From now on, her life would be a slow journey of picking up the remnants Miranda had left behind—the thinning skin, the feverish nights... She would retrace the steps Miranda had taken, and the distance between them would no longer be a fixed twenty-five years, but something that shrank, little by little, with every step forward.
Would twenty-five years feel long?
Andy realized she couldn’t find a reference. Because from the very beginning, she had never measured her time with Miranda in years. Forty years sounded like too broad a concept. In her heart, it was a few late-night movies, hundreds of overseas calls, thousands of arguments, tens of thousands of kisses, hundreds of thousands of silent confessions, and millions of exchanged glances.
It was a sky full of brilliant stars, scattered across what seemed to her like such a fleeting life.
As long as Andy was willing, she could count them one by one, pick them up one by one — until she grew dizzy and weak, and could no longer summon the strength to remember.